Unfair
by high.fiving.jesus
Summary: For an infant's cry that will never touch it's mother's ears, for an infant's smile that will never reach into new years. AU. Trigger warning: abortion.


**Pairing: Everlark**

**Rating: T**

**Spoilers: N/A**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or any aspect of the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Unfair  
**_(A Study in Family)_

It starts with what should be a harmless chat amongst two friends.

About boys and sex and things any other girls would talk about at their age.

Johanna is disappointed that Katniss waited for marriage; Katniss doesn't want to talk about it. She just wanted to wait. Nothing wrong with that. She's been left in the midst of a serious relationship before because it turns out that her would-be husband had a soon-to-be child with her soon-to-be ex-best friend. Whatever. Gale was a douche anyway.

So she didn't want to risk anything. She feels that sex should mean something and besides, she'd never have risked getting pregnant without wedlock there to keep her husband by her side. Not that Peeta would've left her, but old burns turn to scars that can be stared at and remembered for the rest of a girl's life. Insecurities do not fade so quickly.

But she and Peeta have been married for nearly four years now. Her virginity has long since left her.

Johanna on the other hand has no qualms about it.

What she wants, she gets because Johanna is a force of nature all her own and she can't be stopped.

She doesn't want to be tied down. It's not her style.

So, she's as free as a bird.

She wants sex. A lot.

So she has sex. Safe sex, she swears, but that's so much better than nothing.

Katniss just snorts at her friend's antics. She's grown so used to Johanna and her crass way of describing the world that she doesn't blush and scold like she used to. Besides, blushes and good scoldings are two of Jo's favorite things in the world, in the bedroom and out of the bedroom.

She does her best to rile her friend up with all the ammo she can manage.

But Johanna isn't aiming to upset Katniss when she says, "I got an abortion. Last week." She sips her drink and scans the menu. "Turns out condoms and pills aren't one-hundred percent." She shrugs and waggles her eyebrows without looking up.

Katniss tells herself that Johanna doesn't know any better.

But that doesn't stop the furious heat from spreading out to her nerve endings, that doesn't stop the stinging behind her eyes.

She wants to snuff out this feeling—this _loathing_ and _resentment_—but she can't. And it's beginning to overtake her. She could let it swallow her whole.

_She doesn't know any better._

_She doesn't know better._

_She doesn't know._

But the mantra doesn't help and even if it's true, she's hurting. Every inch of her is hurting. This moment feels like a good kick to the chest, knocks the wind out of her, leaves her wiping hastily at her eyes and nose.

She's got to go.

Katniss pushes back from the table so fast and hard that the chair scrapes across the linoleum floor and now everyone's looking at them but she can't be here anymore, can't look at her friend anymore, can't do _this_ anymore.

Johanna has enough time to open her mouth, but too soon Katniss is gone out the door and down the sidewalk to where her car is parked.

The meter says she's got another hour left.

* * *

It was just a week ago.

They haven't told anyone yet. Are still coming to terms with it.

Still trying to figure out where life goes from here. The sting is so fresh, and the feeling that she is an utter failure won't seem to leave her, and she imagines a hate behind Peeta's eyes that she's to blame for entirely. She deserves it.

The hatred doesn't exist, only the longing, but Katniss can't see past her own self-loathing.

_She_ hates herself, or her body more than anything, because it has failed the only boy she's ever truly loved without there being a necessity behind the romance and she keeps failing him, will always fail him.

The only way she could ever prove how much she loves him—or at least that's how she sees it in her mind—is by bearing him a child. A tow-headed infant with his or her daddy's dazzling blue eyes and that dimple he keeps tucked away on his left cheek. A child that would grow into a baker or a painter or, hell, even a musician with Katniss's father's voice. A child that would learn to hunt or wrestle or play ball, though that's unlikely since they both suck at throwing and catching.

A child that would maybe be a smooth talking angel like its father or honest to a fault like its mother.

A child that would openly and readily love or a child that would push everyone away for the sake of his own safety.

She still imagines that future, even though she knows she shouldn't. She knows that she's just hurting herself in the end. But she can't help it; she wants it so badly that it has become an all-encompassing thought that makes her heart squeeze.

She pictures her body humming with excitement, glowing at the prospect as she approaches him. She thinks she'd do it in the still of the night, or possibly she'd spring the news on him when they're taking an unnecessary shower in the middle of the day while they're both on their lunch break. Or maybe fresh in the morning, when he's still holding onto sleep, if only so she can see his eyes awaken the moment it processes for him.

She pictures the hesitance and then the outburst of ecstasy. The brilliant smiles and the disbelieving laughs and the bright eyes that all sing of his adoration and unending love.

She pictures him swelling with love as she tries to find a comfortable position on the couch, her belly heavy with child, her brow furrowed with discontent, her feet swollen and unattractive. He'll see her and mistake his pride as unbridled attraction and he'll jump her like a feral beast and she won't mind one bit.

She pictures Peeta sitting down at their table with a dark little girl cradled in one arm, sleeping contently while he tries to maneuver his spoon through his dinner and to his face. He won't mind though. He'd do anything for his baby girl's happiness.

She pictures Peeta chasing enthusiastically after a squealing boy, who will run with all of his might. All of his might will be tottering steps at a hastened pace, not sprints, but Peeta will indulge in the pass time for the sake of his adventurous baby boy.

She pictures herself lying beside him on a blanket of grass, with an infant sleeping between them, nuzzling up to their sides, and another babe catching crickets and butterflies that blend in with the field and play a mean game of stillness that the child can't fathom.

She shouldn't allow herself these thoughts since they can never be, since she can never conceive a child of her own, but she can't help it.

She wants so much.

* * *

They host a little get together, nearly a month later, after Katniss has been blatantly ignoring Johanna.

She knows that she's probably hurt Jo's feelings, has probably upset her and confused her and forced her into shame for her actions; she knows it's not fair, but she can't bear to be around Johanna now. Not until she can get herself past this rough patch in her life and in her marriage.

Katniss can't be around a woman who has the means to throw children away when she herself can only dream of what a pregnancy feels like.

But now, after much consideration and consolation, and now, after many nights spent wrapped up in each other and loving each other into the arms of acceptance, they're considering adopting.

Like, _seriously_ considering it.

And Peeta thinks it would be a good idea to get their friends' support. And for some reason, when Johanna received the blanket text, she accepted without a second of hesitation. Katniss thinks the two of them can look past this. And maybe she should pull her aside, explain her coldness (icier than normal), and hope that Johanna understands without getting offended or feeling like Katniss is blaming her.

Katniss doesn't really want to blame anyone. But it just seems too unfair and she thinks her anger at the world is righteous.

Those who want, can't have.

Those who have, don't want.

* * *

People arrive. They bring goods. Food and beer and kind smiles and dirty jokes. They bring an ease and a sense of normalcy. Peeta and Katniss can never express how grateful they are for the break from their own minds.

Delly is swept in by a breeze of her famous baked macaroni and cheese, grinning so widely that the corners of her mouth reach her ears. She's curvaceous and kind and just excited to be with friends for no reason at all. At least that's what she's been lead to believe.

Finnick fills the doorway, tall and muscled and gorgeous, with a boisterous laugh. He's brought dessert. He always brings dessert. Finnick doesn't go anywhere that serves food without getting something sweet; he doesn't go anywhere without a bag of candy to munch on.

Following quietly at his heels is the lovely Annie Odair, with little Finn clinging to her hand and blinking his big green eyes around at the familiar surroundings. The Mellarks have babysat on more than one occasion and, while the child is a nightmare, they love having him around.

Now, the sight of him with his parents makes Katniss's mouth dry and her tongue stick and she can only offer a weak smile.

Hard feelings between the Hawthornes and Mellarks have settled to simply sore subjects that no one ever approaches ever. As long as they pretend that nothing happened, it sometimes feels as if it's true.

Madge comes bearing strawberries and a baby bump that Katniss makes a point to not look at. But she does catch Peeta's eyes drifting down and it nearly sours her mood. She wants to send everyone home and just curl up in bed by herself, wishing hard that by some miracle she could feel the twinge of morning sickness the next day.

Gale gives a grunt of acknowledgement as his son, now seven, punches him in the leg. Probably a lay-over of an argument the pair had while in the car. They're known to argue because of how alike they are. The sass and poor-behavior make this whole evening a little easier for Katniss to stomach.

Just a little.

When Johanna does knock at the door, she has the good sense to be just a little pissed and a part indignant. Katniss has the grace to look sheepish.

Throughout the night, she tries to laugh at jokes and talks with her friends about all the great things happening. Finnick is taking over as head of his father's company as soon as the old man decides to retire—which will be soon, Finnick admits. And then quietly, he tells them that it scares the hell out of him.

Madge's father is getting Gale a job in his office, which is fitting because honestly Gale has two passions: family and politics. He'd be happier not having a desk job, but it's a field that Gale could settle in.

Peeta is the perfect picture of a kind and thoughtful host. He sets the table and brings out the food. He smiles warmly at most everyone, he invokes a welcoming atmosphere, he doesn't let them see the inner turmoil that Katniss knows lies under the surface. He's wonderful at putting aside himself and fretting over the others. A natural father.

Katniss could be better, and while no one really expects anything different, they can plainly tell that her distance is excessive and unusual.

As they're sitting around the table, the kids settled in the living room eating off of TV dinner trays and watching a cartoon, the conversation turns inevitably to Madge's protruding belly. She turns pink and rubs her belly and is positively _glowing_. She babbles about dates and how magical it feels and about the sound of her baby's heart beating in an underdeveloped chest. Katniss feels sick.

Finnick and Annie are considering getting pregnant.

Delly fawns over all of them, gushing about babies and nurseries and safety blankets and onesies and little booties and diapers that turn to pull-ups and… and _spit up_, for God's sake.

Peeta's knuckles turn white and that is the only tell to his discomfort.

This is all too much. She can't breathe.

She wants babies and nurseries and safety blankets and spit up.

She wants it so bad.

So when Johanna makes a comment about babies sounding like a whole bunch of pain with not enough pay-off, she snaps.

Her face turns red and she slams her silverware down on the table, uneaten bite of mashed potatoes and all. "You know what, Jo? You don't really get to put in your two cents, what with you taking the easy way out. You wouldn't know what it's worth. So why don't you just shut the fu—"

"Katniss," Peeta warns, glancing at the kids a room over. His voice is tight.

"No, let's hear what Katniss has to say. About time, too," Johanna snaps back, wiping her mouth and throwing her napkin on her unfinished plate. There is a long and heavy pause where eyes slide between the two women.

To her everlasting credit, Peeta thinks, Katniss held back longer than he expected.

"What's wrong, cat got your tongue? Go on; tell me how I'm a baby-killer," Johanna goads, upset by the thought more than she's willing to let on. But despite her outburst, Katniss doesn't want to blame her friend. She tries her hardest to keep her mouth shut. "Tell me to my face, dammit! Tell me!"

"Leave it alone, Johanna," Peeta says through gritted teeth and hard eyes. She blatantly ignores him, turns her body to face Katniss entirely.

"Why, all the sudden, does this even matter to you?"

"Because I can't get pregnant!" Katniss snaps.

And then there are a few gasps and everyone's holding their breath or averting their eyes and Johanna manages to look just a bit put-off and shamefaced. The silence is heavy and rings in Katniss's ears. Her whole body turns a violent red that spreads across her neck and over her cheeks her down to her chest. She's hot with embarrassment. Tears are already making their way down her cheeks and she shoves away from the table and rushes to her bedroom where she can disappear under the sheets.

She feels like she's drowning and adoption isn't the same but she'll be the best mother she can be if it'll make Peeta happy. If it'll make the child feel wanted. If it gives them all a shot at a family.

* * *

It's nearly an hour later and she hears the last of their guests leaving, exchanging hushed goodbyes and hurrying off to their cars. The door to the room slides open soundlessly.

She waits a while, hoping whoever it is will go away. But they don't. She turns to take a peak.

"I'm sorry."

Silence.

"I didn't know."

A nod.

Some shuffling.

"How far along were you?"

"Seven weeks."

And there's nothing else to say so she leaves and Katniss turns over this information until she's sick to her stomach.

* * *

She curls up to his side, late into the night when everyone's gone home but the mess of their gathering is still set out and waiting to be tended to. She slides her legs in between his and presses her face into his chest. Breathes deeply. Runs her fingers along the lines visible through his shirt slowly and calmly.

Listens to the sound of his heart pounding in his chest.

And then she starts to cry, really heavy and really ugly, for the loss of something she's never had. For the start of something that was exterminated in its early stages because it was a burden. For an infant's cry that will never touch it's mother's ears, for an infant's smile that will never reach into new years.

He tenses and pulls her closer, pets her head and whispers to her. He thinks he knows what's wrong but he asks anyways. Just in case.

She hiccups and cries harder every time she opens her mouth. And then:

"It had a heartbeat, Peeta."

But now it's gone.

**A/N: This is not condemning anyone who has or is considering an abortion (though I will admit I am against them unless certain circumstance presents itself [i.e. the baby is threatening the life of the mother, or… well that's about it]).**

**It's just looking at the issue from an angle not often considered.**

**It's not political; it's reality.**

**I won't get into any debates.**

**Thanks for reading. God bless.**


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